


reversal

by fiction fetishist (fictionfetishist)



Category: Kimi ni Todoke | From Me to You
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionfetishist/pseuds/fiction%20fetishist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries not to think about how easily he walks into her trap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reversal

“ _So_ ,” she drawls, stirring languidly at his cup of coffee, and all he can think of is how frighteningly sweet the word sounds as it rolls off a tongue as sharp as hers, “what’s this I hear about you taking an interest in me?” and her eyes twinkle as she leaves the spoon with a clink and the coffee in a swirl, and when she laces her fingers together, he imagines all too easily how she’s pulled others into her grasp. She smiles. He gulps.

“Well,” he starts, and suddenly the room feels entirely too warm even as he presses his hands against the cold ceramic of his coffee cup. He presses harder. “It’s no secret that you’re quite pretty, Ayane—”

“Yano,” she corrects, holding one perfectly manicured hand in front of him. He blinks. “What did I say about first names?”

“Right,” he says, and she brings back her hand to rest under her chin. He feels her watching him, calculating eyes staring straight right through him, reading him, dissecting him. He breathes. “Right, well, as I’ve said, you’re quite pretty,” he says. ‘and kind,’ he doesn’t say. He doubts she’ll believe him anyway. “...I imagine most boys are interested in you.” And they are. But for different reasons. And it shouldn’t bother him. But it does. A little. A lot. He tries not to dwell on it.

She tilts her head and hums, stray orange curls falling over her cheek. He resists the urge to tuck them behind her ear, feel her soft skin brush against his own, staring instead into the abyss of caffeinated swirls, curling his hands around the curve of the cup. She smirks, slender fingers wrapping around fine strands as she tucks them herself. “Ah, but what _I_ am interested in is why _you_ are interested,” she practically _leers_ at him.

He doesn’t look up. His coffee’s gone cold—a dark brown pool that ripples under his gaze as he picks it up and brings it to his lips. One tilt and he feels the cool liquid slide down his throat. It does nothing to quell the strange churning in the pit of his stomach. He shifts in his seat. “...Do I really need a reason other than what I already told you?”

“I suppose not,” she admits, resting her cheek in her palm. It’s too easy to imagine his own hand taking its place. His palms start to sweat. He refuses to continue that train of thought. She hums, “I just wanted to know. I mean, we aren’t even friends, and now suddenly you’re saying you like me?” A fine eyebrow arches as she lets out a breathy chuckle.

“...I never said that.”

“Ah, I guess not,” she recalls. “Does that mean you don’t then?”

“I...never said that either.”

“Then,” she says, “why don’t you tell me how you _do_ feel about me?” and her eyes gleam as she leans over, lips curling into a predatory smile.

He tries not to think about how easily he walks into her trap when he licks his lips and gives her his answer.


End file.
